


we're either a romance novel or a cheap teen drama

by blackkat



Series: Tumblr Drabbles [125]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Humor, M/M, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-12
Updated: 2018-09-12
Packaged: 2019-07-11 11:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15970973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackkat/pseuds/blackkat
Summary: Kurenai looks thoughtful. “So you want help picking someone who will annoy him?”“I want help picking someone who will give him an aneurism,” Asuma corrects, because he’s always been a fan of go big or go home.“Pissing off the mayor seems like a bad idea,” Raidō ventures after a moment, but he’s already looking around the lunchroom, scanning for targets.Asuma snorts. “I'm not pissing off the mayor, I'm pissing off my father,” he says. “Despite what he wants to think, there is a difference.”





	we're either a romance novel or a cheap teen drama

“Let me guess,” Kurenai says without glancing up from her textbook. “You want a date to the New Year’s Ball, and have cash in hand.”

“I'm not going to _pay_ you to be my date,” Asuma tells her, sliding onto the bench beside her instead of taking the seat across from her like he normally does.

“You're paying for dates now?” Raidō asks, brows almost touching his hairline. He looks from Asuma to Kurenai and back again. “Does that make you an escort— _ow_!”

Asuma snorts. “How did you not see that coming?” he asks, and Raidō goes to flip him off, pauses as he probably remembers he’s in detention for the next two months already, and settles for making a face at Asuma instead. Asuma smirks back, then glances at Kurenai. “No one’s an escort, and I mean it about not asking you.”

Kurenai hums, taking a sip of her chocolate milk. “Good,” she says, “because I have plans. But doesn’t that leave you short one required date? Or did your father finally decide you could stop pretending to have a social life?”

“I have a social life!” Asuma protests.

Raidō stops chewing on his straw, glances over at Kurenai as she lowers her biology textbook. Then they turn those gimlet stares on Asuma, and Raidō says, “Name one other friend you have besides us.”

It’s probably a bad sign that it takes Asuma a minute to come up with a name. “Ibiki,” he says.

Kurenai hums in the way that means she’s judging him very hard. “That doesn’t count, you used to babysit him. Someone in _our_ grade, Asuma, or at least someone who isn't still in _middle school_.”

“Kakashi,” Asuma retorts, and shoots a glare at Raidō when he snickers.

Kurenai rolls her eyes. “If you're friends with Kakashi, who’s he dating?” she asks pointedly.

Given that Asuma didn’t even know Kakashi was dating, there's no chance of him actually answering this question correctly. “Gai?” he tries, because Kakashi and Gai are practically joined at the hip.

“Does that count as a trick question?” Raidō wants to know, glancing at Kurenai. “I mean, the whole school is trying to figure that out.”

“If Asuma was more than just passing acquaintances, he’d know,” Kurenai defends, and then gives Raidō a narrow look. “And why are _you_ pretending not to know? You're friends with Genma, you should have all the answers.”

“Genma?” Asuma asks, thoroughly lost now. He scans the lunchroom, trying to pick out the familiar head of silver hair, and finally spots it out in the courtyard. Kakashi has claimed the spot under the nicest tree, and is flat on his back with his head in Genma's lap as he reads. Gai, sitting next to him, has an arm over Genma's shoulders and is playing with his hair. “Oh,” Asuma says.

“No one can tell who Genma's dating,” Kurenai says in explanation. “And everyone’s been convinced that Kakashi and Gai have been dating since preschool.”

Asuma's hardly about to judge. He tips one shoulder in a shrug, leaning back in his chair, and says, “I don’t care who Kakashi is dating. I don’t have to care to be friends with him. And since you asked, my father still wants me to bring a date. I'm just not bringing _you_.”

“Most girls would punch you for phrasing it like that,” Raidō informs him, building a tower out of fries on his plate.

“I _should_ punch you for phrasing it like that,” Kurenai says, giving him a narrow look. She final flips her textbook closed, leaning forward to rest her elbows on it, and asks, “Asuma? What exactly are you planning?”

Asuma smirks at her and Raidō. “When I told Dad you had a date already, he told me to pick anyone as long as I showed up with someone. How fast do you think I can make him regret that?”

Raidō sinks back in his seat. “This is about the grades thing?” he asks, and when Asuma grits his teeth Raidō nods sagely. “It’s about the grades thing. I don’t know what he’s got a stick up his ass about—my parents would _cry_ if I brought home straight As.”

“Eternal mystery,” Kurenai says, but she looks thoughtful. “So you want help picking someone who will annoy him?”

“I want help picking someone who will give him an _aneurism_ ,” Asuma corrects, because he’s always been a fan of go big or go home.

“Pissing off the mayor seems like a bad idea,” Raidō ventures after a moment, but he’s already looking around the lunchroom, scanning for targets.

Asuma snorts. “I'm not pissing off the mayor, I'm pissing off my father,” he says. “Despite what he wants to think, there is a difference.”

“Hmm.” Kurenai taps her nails against the tabletop, then asks, “Aoba? He’d probably show up with feathers in his hair.”

At the same moment, Raidō kicks Asuma in the ankle and tips his head towards the very back of the lunchroom, lifting a brow in challenge. Asuma raises one back, looking over, and—

Well. Equal odds whether Raidō was thinking of the captain of the soccer team, with her many piercings and blue hair, or her very dramatically brooding redheaded friend, or the hulking figure of the school’s champion fencer who’s probably in some sort of gang. Any of them would be sufficiently stroke-inducing, but Asuma's eyes catch on the figure sitting on the edge of the stage, school uniform liberally hung with probably-not-dress-code decorations. Silver hair, a wide grin, a raucous laugh, and he’s wearing plenty of eyeliner, which Asuma _knows_ his father disapproves of on men.

Perfect.

“You're a genius,” he tells Raidō, getting to his feet.

“Good luck,” Raidō says cheerfully, offering him a salute.

“Lead with _I just saw you and my heart stopped_ ,” Kurenai advises, because she’s terrible, and goes back to her textbook. “And don’t screw up—Hidan is Professor Kakuzu’s favorite.”

Asuma pauses, taken aback, and takes another look at the boy. Drama nerd, then, and—that’s even better, except for the part where Professor Kakuzu is dating the _headmaster._ If Hidan gets the wrong idea, or takes offense, all the Sarutobi money and influence won't save Asuma from being tossed out on his ass.

“Kakuzu?” he repeats, just to be sure. “He doesn’t _have_ favorites, he just hates everyone.”

Kurenai hums, absent. “But when Hidan does something, Professor Kakuzu gives everyone _else_ detention,” she says. “Not Hidan. So maybe try to turn on the charm.”

“Thanks,” Asuma mutters, but he grabs his backpack and heads for the corner. Hidan is snickering with one of the students Asuma's mostly seen in the art department, tossing a bottle back and forth, and neither of them glances over. Konan does, though, and her eyes narrow faintly as she turns, casually dropping a foot on the chair across from her and blocking Asuma's path.

“Sarutobi,” she says coolly.

Asuma eyes her foot, remembers the way she got suspended for punching a soccer ref in freshman year, and nods politely. “Konan. Good game on Saturday.”

Konan tips her head, studying him closely for a long moment before she smiles like it’s a threat. “Thanks,” she says.

The redheaded boy who’s been her shadow for as long as Asuma has known her lifts his head, violet eyes careful, and then glances from Hidan to Asuma. He reaches out, catching Konan's arm, and leans in to murmur something that Asuma can't catch. Whatever it is, it makes Konan's brows arch, and she smirks and casually drops her foot.

“You've got the top grades in our Calculus class, right?” she asks. “Do you tutor? Yahiko's falling behind.”

Behind her, a lump collapsed facedown on the table, topped with a tangle of bright orange hair, makes an indignant noise. Konan ignores him completely.

“Yeah, sure. I'm usually in the library after school,” Asuma says, and it’s a small price to pay for access to Konan's little group.

“I’ll make sure he shows up,” Konan says sweetly, and hooks an arm around Nagato's waist, pulling his chair back an inch. He lets her move him without protest, and Asuma slips through the gap, nodding to Kisame and clearing his throat.

Hidan glances up, even as he snatches the bottle out of the air and chucks it back at Deidara's face. “Oh, hey,” he says, smirking. “Our president. Should we bow?”

Asuma snorts. “Only if you approve of nepotism,” he says, because he knows _precisely_ why he ended up on the student council.

Hidan pauses, surprise flickering over his face, and then laughs loudly. He sits up straighter, swinging his legs down, and says, “So? If you're here to complain about shitty family and how hard your life is, I get to fucking deck you.”

Asuma eyes the rings on his hand, then huffs in amusement. “Not quite. Got any plans for New Year’s?”

Deidara almost falls off the back of the chair. “Are you asking him _out_?”

Hidan's mouth is open, and he seems too surprised to respond, so Asuma shrugs. “More or less,” he says. “I need a date to a formal thing, and you’ll make my father’s head explode, if you want to come with me. Best possible outcome.”

Hidan shuts his mouth, considers for maybe half a second before he’s snickering loudly. “Fuck yeah,” he says. “Suit and tie and shit? Dinner?”

The easy way to anyone’s heart, Asuma thinks, amused. “If you don’t have a suit I can take you to the tailor’s,” he says. “And yeah, a banquet is included.”

Hidan grins, all teeth. “Better than spending the night getting drunk with these losers,” he says, jerking a thumb at the rest of Konan's group. Kisame makes a sound of vague offense, but quietly—his boyfriend is curled up on his lap, apparently asleep.

“Great,” Asuma says, and smirks when Hidan snickers again. “The tailor probably has time this weekend, if you want to go then.”

“Careful or you’re going to make it sound like a date,” Hidan taunts, but he pulls his phone out of his pocket and tosses it to Asuma.

“Oh no,” Asuma says dryly, even as he adds his number. “A date with a hot guy. How terrible.”

“ _What_ ,” Hidan yelps, flushing, and this time Deidara really does fall off the chair, laughing all the way down.

Asuma smirks, tosses the phone back, and turns away as Hidan fumbles to catch it. “Let me know what time you're free,” he says over his shoulder, and the sound of Hidan's pleased laughter follows him back to his table.


End file.
